


Whizzer Knows

by Cade Welentine (cadewelentine)



Series: The MA College AU that Nobody Asked For [8]
Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Gen, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 15:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11739516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadewelentine/pseuds/Cade%20Welentine
Summary: Whizzer holds his breath as he inches the apartment door open, praying it won’t creak this time. By some miracle, it opens with relatively little noise, and as soon as the gap between the door and the moulding is wide enough, he slips through.





	Whizzer Knows

**Author's Note:**

> I am baaaaaaaack. Finally. This one is building up to some sad stuff, but also some plot for Whizzer that doesn't involve him being the object of Marvin's affections. Whizzer's little brother Adam (who also makes appearances in "Whizzer Always Lands on His Feet") is in this, their father has a cameo, and their mother is referenced. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Whizzer holds his breath as he inches the apartment door open, praying it won’t creak this time. By some miracle, it opens with relatively little noise (has someone treated it with WD-40?), and as soon as the gap between the door and the moulding is wide enough, he slips through; he’s got his sneakers in his hand, so his steps don’t make noise, but the toes of the shoes smack against the doorframe, and he curses under his breath. He stays frozen for a moment, counting to ten in his head to see if anyone will have heard him. When no one in the apartment stirs, he exhales and slowly shuts the door.

Whizzer creeps across the den, careful to avoid the furniture; after all this time, no one has thought to rearrange the room. He can see a sliver of dim light across the room, seeping out of the slight crack between a door and the wall. The door has been left ajar for him, he knows. He tiptoes in double time over to it, and nudges it open.

“Adam?” He whispers as he enters. “Adam, it's me. It's Whizzer.” Adam wriggles underneath the covers, eventually settling in a sitting upright position.

“You came!” He whispers back, sounding shocked.

“‘Course I came,” Whizzer says, crossing to sit beside Adam on the bed. “You said you needed me.” The text that says so is still unanswered in his phone, because as soon as he got it, he was buying a bus ticket and packing his backpack.

Adam snuggles up against Whizzer’s side, and his skin is so warm that Whizzer almost draws back. Almost. Whizzer presses the back of his hand to his younger brother’s forehead, the way their mother used to do for him; Adam’s skin feels like an old radiator, putting out too much heat and making Whizzer uncomfortable.

Whizzer reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small bottle of children’s Motrin. He tears into the box, pulls out the bottle, opens it, and pours the thick, syrupy medicine into the little dosing cup.

“Drink this.” He says, handing the cup to Adam. He watches as the younger boy swallows the medicine, shuddering as it goes down. Adam hands the little plastic shot glass back to him, and Whizzer sets it and the bottle down on the nightstand. He touches Adam’s forehead again, and has to remind himself that medicine does not work instantaneously when his temperature is not brought down.

“Let’s try to get some sleep, huh, buddy?” Whizzer suggests, offering the little boy and encouraging grin. Adam nods in agreement, and settles back down in his bed. Whizzer lays behind him, and wraps an arm around his middle, pulling Adam flush against his front. Whizzer’s too warm, but from the way his little brother is shivering, he needs all the heat he can get.

“Whizzer?” Adam asks, his voice even smaller than he is.

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry I made you come home.”

Whizzer smooths Adam’s hair back. “Shh. It's okay, kiddo, you did the right thing.” He buries his nose in Adam’s messy hair, inhaling the too-sweet smell of the watermelon kids’ shampoo their father’s been buying for years; Whizzer finds it both nauseating and oddly comforting.

“Will you sing to me?”

“Uh-” Whizzer says, a little stunned by the question. “Sure.” He shifts a bit in Adam’s bed and gives him another little squeeze. “ _Y_ _ou are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away._ ”

* * *

 

“Looks like the Prodigal Son has finally returned.” Whizzer’s father snarks. Whizzer barely looks up from his bowl of cereal.

“I’m not familiar with that reference.” He replies coolly. It’s a lie, of course, but Whizzer lives to see the darkening of his father’s eyes when reminded that he lost the religion battle with Whizzer’s mother, and that his sons were raised Jewish. His father opens his mouth to say something, but he just lets out a frustrated noise and rolls his eyes, sulking off to the den instead. That’s fine by Whizzer--he’s trying to focus on Adam too much to bicker with their father anyway; his little brother is pushing Apple Jacks around his bowl aimlessly, staring off into the middle distance. He’s skinnier than Whizzer remembers; Whizzer wonders if he’s been eating enough--or at all.

“You okay, pal?” He asks. Adam jumps a little at the question, like he’s surprised to be spoken to at all. He nods.

“My stomach just hurts a little.” He says. “That’s all.” But Whizzer has feeling that’s _not_ all. He inhales silently, biting his bottom lip. He reaches across the peninsula to feel Adam’s forehead again; he’s still burning up.

Whizzer knows he should take Adam to a doctor. He knows it innately, the way he knows his name or the color of his mother’s eyes. But he also knows they don’t have insurance, and that their father would never pay for a trip to the doctor; he starts doing the math in his head, moving things around, making cuts in his budget, trying to figure out how he’s going to afford it. He’s got a little money saved up, pocket change he’s squirreled away and stashed and stored, that is _supposed_ to be for a new camera, but Adam’s pale and shivering, and Whizzer knows what he has to do. Whizzer _knows_.

* * *

 

The doctor Whizzer takes Adam to ends up sending them to the emergency room at the children’s hospital, which does absolutely nothing to calm Whizzer down. When they aren’t immediately taken into a room, and are instead sent to sit and wait while Whizzer fills out some paperwork, he tries to tell himself that they don’t make you wait if it’s serious. The people who wait are the people who are going to be okay.

“Whizzer, am I gonna die?” Adam asks, sticking his legs out in front of himself. Whizzer pauses in the middle of the word he’s writing and looks up.

“What?” He asks, hoping his voice isn’t as hysterical as it _feels_. “Of course not. Why would you even _ask_ that?”

“We’re at a hospital.” Adam says matter-of-factly. “You only go to hospitals if you’re dying.” Then, his voice gets a little quieter: “Like Momma did.”

Whizzer sighs and sets the pen down on the clipboard. He turns to look at Adam head on.

“Listen, buddy, Momma was really, really sick when she died--” Whizzer explains, trying to phrase everything as delicately as possible; it feels so wrong to him, worrying about whether his words are delicate. “You’ve just got a bad fever. That’s all. You’re gonna be fine, okay? I know it.” Which is lie; in this moment, Whizzer knows exactly nothing. But it placates his little brother, gets him to relax and lean into Whizzer’s side as he finishes filling out forms, and it’s enough for now. It has to be.


End file.
